Threshold
by MarcusJuniusBrutus
Summary: Faramir recieves a strange letter, and he and Boromir must save Gondor. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, so far.  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
Life was perfect. I leaned back against a tree and shut my eyes, savoring the moment. Soon my brother and I would meet with the author of an anonymous and troubling note and deal accordingly with the problem we would encounter, and I had just escaped from a tense situation behind me where my father, Lord Denethor, was in an especially foul temper. Neither of these situations could possibly turn out well, but I managed to shut them out of my mind as I took on a more carefree attitude than usual.  
  
The fire crackled beside me, fighting the chill of the night air and drying my feet, which were damp from my fishing excursion with Boromir, who seemed at this moment remarkably quiet. The sharp sound of metal grinding against rock caught my attention, and I had to smile. Perhaps he wasn't content to be silent, after all.  
  
The rhythmic scrape of the sword being sharpened was the only unnatural sound, so I felt somewhat secure, or at least as secure as any ranger can possibly feel. "Boromir, you have first watch," I mumbled as I dropped off to sleep.  
  
My dreams that might were strange and disturbing. The first sensation I had was one of movement, as if I was floating along. Then sounds and smells around me told me that I was going through a crowd- a crowd that was calling my name.  
  
So I lay back, unable to open my eyes, but I already knew that I was in Minas Tirith. There was no mistaking the slightly salty breeze blowing off the nearby sea, or the old feel of the city with its history that ran deep, though everything seemed to have taken on a darker tone. I especially noticed this because of the mourning that constrained the voices of the people around me. I tried to respond to them; tried to reassure them that I was all right, but no matter how hard I strained, I could not answer.  
  
I felt my feet tilt up and could hear the sound of boots sharply striking marble stairs as they marched up solemnly. That probably meant that my body was being borne on some kind of bier. By the time I realized this, I had reached the top of the stairs and was carried into a room with its large, heavy doors swinging open before me. I heard then the light, cultured voice of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, which was then tainted with grief and weariness. "Your son has returned, my lord, after great deeds." He was obviously talking to my father, steward of Minas Tirith, although he would never believe me capable of 'great deeds', no matter who said it. "We found him stricken on the field after he was hit by one of the darts of the Easterlings..."  
  
Dead? I panicked, and I felt my breath come in short gasps. Then I forced myself to relax my tense muscles. This had to be a dream. I needed to force my way to consciousness. Deep breaths. Imrahil's voice faded into the distance, and I opened my eyes. Bright light instantly overwhelmed my vision, and I moaned from the pain, shutting them again.  
  
"Did you have a good rest, little brother?"  
  
"Yes. Why didn't you wake me?"  
  
"You seemed to be in a deeper sleep than usual, so I let you have your rest." He handed me a plate of leftover fish. "Breakfast:" he said cheerily, "the most important meal of the day. Eat up." I chewed it in a thoughtful silence, which he soon could not stand. "Read me that letter again," he commanded.  
  
I sighed, carefully setting down my meal, and read,  
  
"'To Faramir, Ranger of Ithilien,  
  
It has been many years since we met; however I must meet with you now in the greatest of haste and alone. I will ride as quickly as possible to Cair Andros, the long isle on the Great River, where I hope to find you waiting. Please come. If you do not, you will find that many will die like your mother, Finduilas, whose portrait now hangs over your bed in remembrance.  
  
Yours in haste.  
  
P.S. If you are in Minas Tirith when you receive this, Boromir will undoubtedly wish to accompany you in case of danger, in spite of the fact that I wish to meet with you alone. I would assure you that such protection is unnecessary, but I do accept the fact that he will come anyway.'  
  
And that's it."  
  
Boromir frowned. "I suppose he was trying to make it a point that his is trusted enough to have been inside your chambers at some point- how else would know of our mother's portrait above your bed- but I hardly see the point of the comparison between her death and the possible deaths of others."  
  
"He could be stressing that people may die prematurely and unnecessarily."  
  
"Possibly. But is he trying to threaten you into coming? Or is he really just acting concerned? It could be taken either way."  
  
I had, of course, thought of that, but since I had no idea who was sending it, I didn't know what to make of it, so I shrugged helplessly. "I suppose we will have to wait until he- or they- returns to find out."  
  
He threw down his breakfast in disgust, in a sudden temperamental fit. "Waiting. Why must we wait for the author of this note when he himself urged you to haste?"  
  
I shook my head uncertainly. "We may have to wait to find out that as well." 


	2. Chapter 2

To My Reviewers:  
  
TeenTypist- I hope I won't disapoint you, in that case. quillon- Well, you won't have to wait too long to find out. Caroly- Yeah, Faramir's one of my favourite characters, and I love all of the plot possibilities when it comes to his familiy. So, were you right?  
  
Disclaimer: Still nothing of mine.  
  
CHAPTER TWO  
  
"Mithrandir?" When the wizard silently appeared out of a grove of trees to my right, I like Boromir, jumped to my feet and turned in that direction with my hand on my sword. Boromir's blade was already unsheathed by the time he was on his feet, however, for he was less concerned as I about startling a potential friend, and he felt it his solemn duty to protect me, his younger brother, as long as he was my companion.  
  
When we saw that it was Mithrandir, Boromir's wariness diminished, though he cautiously slipped his sword back in its sheath. My expression was one of delight, which gave way to concern as I simultaneously remembered his message and saw how tired he looked.  
  
He smiled as I dropped my hand from the hilt of my sword. "You have both changed greatly since I saw you last a decade ago, although you, Faramir, were only ten years old and Boromir fifteen. But both of you have retained your same natures." His eyes twinkled slightly as he glanced at Boromir's slightly moody look, which made it obvious that he was offended at being caught off guard by anyone, wizard though he be. As a ranger, I felt slightly reprimanded myself, but then again, Mithrandir could be stealthy when he wanted to be. The wizard grew serious once more.  
  
"But now to more grave matters," he sighed. "You're probably curious about the letter I sent you." I nodded encouragingly as he cleared his throat, and Boromir now seemed vaguely interested, though he still wore a half- glare. "Faramir, do you know how many of the Heren Istarion- order of wizards- came to Middle Earth?"  
  
"Five."  
  
"No, that is what most people think, but..."  
  
"You brought us here to trouble us with the matters of wizards?" Boromir demanded, unable to contain himself.  
  
Mithrandir appeared irritated at the interruption and snapped out, "I just thought that you may like to know what happens within your own borders- troubling or not." That effectively quieted Boromir down, and the Grey Pilgrim, satisfied with his sullen silence, continued, "There are, actually, a great many wizards in numbers that I myself do not know, but of a lesser skill than the five who are known to most people. And within this Order is a faction that has broken off from the normal teachings and concerns of wizards and has instead turned to pursuits of power. Even now there are three such people included in your father's closest ring of advisors."  
  
"Why couldn't you just come to Minas Tirith yourself, tell my father, and get the wizards out of our city?"  
  
Heading off the inevitable glaring contest, I put in, "I was wondering about that, as well. Why the note?"  
  
"Because the lord Denethor already knows that the wizards are there, but he will not believe they are against him; not without proof, even if I came myself and told him what I know for a fact."  
  
"Probably true," I admitted. It was, after all, quite well known that there was little love lost between my father and Mithrandir; a trait that Boromir seemed to share.  
  
"And so," Boromir filled in, "you thought it would be easier to drag my brother down here under the pretext of an anonymous letter and convince him to spy on my fathers trusted advisors."  
  
The wizard and I exchanged a look that said that it would indeed be easier, but trying to be tactful, Mithrandir suggested, "Actually, I think even you would agree that spying on power-hungry wizards who are trying to influence your father is worth your time."  
  
"Your errands are never worth my time."  
  
"I'm sorry you think so." He turned to me. "Faramir..."  
  
"On second thought," Boromir interjected, seeing me watching the Pilgrim attentively, "I want to be there to clean up when the two of you make a mess of things, so..." Here, Mithrandir and I smiled knowingly at each other. "Why don't you tell us what kind of 'proof' you have in mind." 


	3. Chapter 3

Caroly- I would have updated sooner, but my computer wasn't letting me log in for some reason. And congrats on the good guess.  
  
Disclaimer: Lt. Calmacil, Tarfea, Dinanna, and Nenlom are mine, but nothing else is.  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
"The message was from Mithrandir," Boromir told Father later. I waited tensely by the door, wondering how deeply he would be questioned about the encounter. "He was saying something about the problems of wizards, which is not something I care much for, so I only listened with half a mind and do not remember everything, but I'm sure Faramir could describe our conversation in more depth than I could."  
  
Here, I held my breath. This was the critical moment in our careful planning. We had chosen each word carefully with the knowledge that neither of us would every directly lie to Father, indeed, I never lied at all; so our only defense against his questioning was to be as vague as possible and hope that he wouldn't interrogate us further. And it was also a fact that the lord Denethor cared more for the thoughts of his elder son, so that was another thing to work for us and contributed to his last statement.  
  
Father did cast a quick glance at me, but his eyes soon returned to rest on Boromir. "No," he said, "the Grey Pilgrim's business does not interest me, either."  
  
I could have sighed with relief, but my father was too skilled at reading what was in peoples' hearts and minds, and I feared he would have picked up on it too easily. So I did not allow myself any change in expression until Boromir and I were in the palace gardens, casually wandering the many paths. We both appeared appropriately more relaxed than we had been in the throne room, but inwardly, we were both feeling a conflict of emotions.  
  
On the one hand, we had just escaped from the meeting with our father without him discovering our plans, but on the other, we still had to find the wizards and gather information successfully before anyone caught on. A rumor that the wizard/advisors had been seen recently in the garden had led us to that location, and soon after we arrived there, we were stopped by a messenger. He happened to be a guard from the advisors' palace. He had been stationed there only about a month, having just transferred from the army, so I didn't know him very well. And he hadn't quite gotten a grasp on the concept of formality, which came and went in erratic waves. But he did have a military stiffness which I was actually more inclined to appreciate at times.  
  
"I was instructed to give this to you, Captain," he said, handing me a scroll.  
  
"Thank you, lieutenant." My attention went instantly from Lt. Calmacil to the message. I eagerly unrolled it and scanned its contents, and after a slightly annoyed cough from Boromir, I showed him as well. It read:  
  
'Captain Faramir,  
  
Not all of the wizards are evil, and I hope you may avoid painful mistakes of misidentity. Please remember that you still have friends.  
  
Yours, Anon.'  
  
Boromir raised his eyebrows curiously, his expression asking, "Mithrandir?" I shook my head. It wasn't his handwriting.  
  
"Will there be a response, Captain?" Calmacil asked.  
  
"No, thank you, lieutenant." He turned to leave. "Lieutenant," I called after him, "who told you to give this to me?"  
  
"I am not allowed to say." He didn't stammer, but he did seem extremely uncomfortable with the question.  
  
"What if I order you to tell me?"  
  
"He ordered me not to, and he has a higher rank than you."  
  
"What about..."  
  
"Or you." He cut off Boromir's question, but rather than looking offended, my brother shrugged and dismissed him; then the two of us watched him go.  
  
"One of the advisors then," Boromir observed. "Probably one of the three... What are their names, again?"  
  
"Tarfea, Dinanna, and Nenlom. But I do not believe it was any of them."  
  
"Not their writing?"  
  
"Not their style," I corrected. "Which of them would abbreviate anything? They don't even use contractions."  
  
"Good point," he conceded. "But if it's not them, how does our anonymous 'friend' know about the wizards?"  
  
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, I felt a sharp blow to the back of my head and passed from consciousness. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Lt. Calmacil, Tarfea, Dinanna, Nenlom, and Siriandil are mine, but nothing and no one else is.

CHAPTER FOUR

I guessed at first that I was dreaming again, for it felt as if I was lying on the same bier, and I heard someone weeping softly beside me. The voice sounded like my father's, although I had never known him to cry before, for the only person he would mourn over would be Boromir.

When that thought entered my mind, nothing could dispel it, and I was seized with panic. What if this wasn't a dream? What if after I was knocked over the head, Boromir was killed? No; he couldn't die. He would have fought and beaten my assailant.

Then again, it would have had to have been one of the wizards. Who else could sneak up on a ranger like that? And a wizard could have beaten Boromir with magic. But I was obviously wounded, so I soon felt myself drifting to sleep, and I knew then that I... wasn't... dreaming...

Standing by the bank of a river, I could hear the roaring sound of a great waterfall, but I could not see much, for there was a bluish-gray mist obscuring my vision. Though this was obviously unreal, I knew from my many previous trips to this spot- my personal place of solitude- that I was on the shores of the Great River near the base of the Rauros falls.

I peered into the gloom and watched a dark spot materialize before my gaze, floating down the Anduin. It turned out to be a canoe, which at first appeared empty. It was in my mind to wonder why it had not, at the very least, overturned coming down the falls, but more importantly why it did not crack at the bottom. So, my curiosity being aroused, I waded out to it, examining its elven design and marveling at the strange kind of wood from which it was formed. But when I reached it and looked inside, all such trivial thoughts flew from my mind.

Boromir! The Captain-General of the Gondorian army- unrivaled by any man in my mind or his- was lying there dead in the canoe, arrayed for a funeral by some unknown friend. Boromir... I searched his face for any sign of life; nonetheless all my hope had faded when I saw the arrow wounds in his chest. I clutched the side of the canoe so that it would not drift away from me and stared at my brother. I knew that he had died doing some noble deed, for his face was even more peaceful, more beautiful now than in life.

To have died within his own borders... So, that was indeed the Horn of Gondor we had heard from afar. But the horn itself, which had been passed down through generations of stewards from the days of Mardil the faithful, now lay split in two by Boromir's side. I picked up the pieces, wondering what kind of sword it was that had cleaved it, but in doing so, I let go the elven boat, and it floated away downstream. I myself stood in shock, but feeling the cold of the river, I eventually trudged to the bank and lay down in the dirt. I felt salty droplets of water stinging my face and sliding down my cheek until my heart itself was numb, and my eyes void of tears. I held tenderly the pieces of the horn; the last physical link to my beloved friend and kin.

I perceived someone shaking me gently. "Faramir," a voice called somewhere in the depths of reality, which I called myself back to then. Anborn it was; for he was the only person save Boromir who knew my place of retreat. He must have come looking for me.

Opening my eyes to face the ranger, I was instantly assaulted by a view of bright flowers, which seemed mocking to my sober mood. "What...?" was all I could manage to get out. I felt somewhat dazed, so I glanced around to take in my surroundings.

I was lying on my side in the palace gardens, where it turned out I had not moved from since I had fallen. "Boromir?" I asked of Anborn, who was kneeling beside me.

"Once he saw you were all right, he took off in that direction." As I sat up, he pointed in the general vicinity of the advisors' palace.

"He's not, um..." I trailed off, still disoriented, and for the first time in my life at a loss for even an intelligent thought. Anborn scrutinized me curiously. "I mean, besides a large bump on the back of his head, he's fine?"

"Yes. As you've obviously surmised, he was apparently knocked out by whoever- or whatever- got you, too."

"'Got' me?" I repeated contemptuously, now angry at myself for being caught off guard for the second time that day. I received only a sympathetic smile from Anborn. I mock-scowled at him with a disapproving air, but he was spared for at least that moment, for we were subsequently hailed by Damrod, the newest Ranger in our ranks. With him was Calmacil, who seemed rather reluctant to be there. "You find out the most interesting things," Damrod said, "when you take time to question people." He smirked triumphantly. "I know where Boromir is going..."

"The advisors' palace," I filled in for Anborn.

Damrod wasn't the least bit put out, however, and he resumed, "...and who attacked you."

"Well, I have three candidates: Tarfea, Dinanna, and Nenlom."

"None of the above," he said cheerily, altogether too pleased with himself.

"Siriandil," came a voice from one of the garden paths. Mablung, another of my more trusted rangers, rounded the corner, which put a dismayed look on Damrod's face.

"How did you find out?"

"Well, Faramir was just now naming advisors, and using my expert intuition, I deduced that it was really the creepiest of the bunch." I sighed. He was definitely one of the most light-hearted men I knew. "Seriously, that man sends chills down my spine whenever I see him."

"Let's forget Mablung and his intuition for a moment," I addressed everyone. "Damrod, how did you know that it was Siriandil? Did Calmacil tell you that?" At his nod, I turned my attention to the guard. "Were you spying on us after you delivered the note?"

"First, I went back to the person who told me to give it to you. Then he asked me to see what you were going to do about it, so I returned and saw Siriandil standing over your unconscious bodies. He left when he heard me, and I went back to report it to my lord when he came up," He pointed at Anborn. "and revived Boromir."

"Thank you; I know the rest from there." So, Siriandil wanted us out of the way, but for some reason did not want to kill us. Of course, it was not necessarily Siriandil. He was just standing over our bodies. There was still some unaccounted-for time between when Calmacil had arrived and when we were knocked out.

"Captain," Calmacil asked tentatively, "what are you planning to do?"

"I am going to find Boromir. Damrod, it is time for you to win your spurs, so the saying goes. You are to find out what Siriandil is up to. Anborn, find Mithrandir and bring him to the City. Mablung, watch for them, and when they come back, bring my father to the advisors' palace and the two of you find me."

As they dispersed, Lieutenant Calmacil asked tentatively, "And me?"

"You are coming with me." I motioned him to follow me as I ran towards the palace, and he complied wordlessly. "We can only hope," I said to my companion, "that Boromir has not found the wizards yet."

"Wizards?"

I glared at him. "Do not insult my intelligence. You know quite well who they are; probably better than I do.

He nodded reluctantly. "So, why did you send for Mithrandir and Lord Denethor?"

I mentally noted that he mentioned the wizard before his lord, but did not let it show. Rather, I answered his question. "A little intuition of my own. Something is going to happen soon; something that someone wanted certain people such as Boromir and myself out of the way for."

"That's... vague."

"That happens sometimes."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: The aforementioned people are mine.

CHAPTER FIVE

We ran past a few guards and through the large, carved door, but no one tried to stop us, for I fortunately had access to all of the official buildings in Minas Tirith. "I'll look in their private quarters; you check in the library."

"What are we looking for?"

"The wizards, my brother, or both."

"Yes, sir." He saluted and we parted, scouring the halls from the antechamber near the door to our allotted destinations.

I entered into a bare hallway, and instantly, a splitting headache doubled me over. Being a ranger, I could sense some magic, but this overwhelmed me; oppressed me. As I forced myself to move along, it caused voices inside my mind to filter into my ears as if I was actually hearing them.

The first had a strange, rustic accent that I did not know, though I assumed it belonged to one of the City's squires by his words. "Do not weep, lord," he said. "Perhaps he will get well. Have you asked Gandalf?"

"Comfort me not with wizards!" was the sharp response from my father. "The fool's hope has failed. he Enemy has it, and now his power waxes; he sees our very thoughts, and all we do is ruinous. I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, into needless peril, and here he lies with poison in his veins. Nay, nay, whatever may not betide in war, my line too is ending, even the House of Stewards has failed. Mean folk shall rule the last Remnant of the Kings of Men, lurking in the hills until all are hounded out."

I subsequently heard a garble of voices, which seemed to be asking my father a question and begging for an answer until once again his voice rang out, echoing inside my head. "Nay, I will not come down. I must stay beside my son. He might still speak before the end. But that is near. Follow whom you will, even the Grey Fool, though his hope has failed. Here I stay."

Shaking my head, I cleared it of everything except the room I now stood before: Tarfea's chambers. Taking out my dagger, I expertly picked the lock then threw open the door, half expecting to see three wizards standing there dressed in glimmering robes and pointing staffs at me. There were, of course, several things wrong with that picture, none of which I stopped to ponder.

Instead, I searched both of his rooms thoroughly until I was satisfied that there was no one there. I also explored Nenloms's chambers, which were adjacent to Tarfea's. Then I hurried shut the door carefully behind me and hurried from the vicinity towards the stairs, which I would have to ascend before coming to Dinanna's three rooms. But as I continued along my course, I heard, starting at no more than a whisper then growing in strength, another voice. This time, I did not even try to fight it.

"The first circle of the City is burning, lord. What are your commands? You are still the Lord and Steward. Not all will follow Mithrandir. Men are flying from the walls and leaving them unmanned."

"Why? Why do the fools fly?" Father asked of him. "Better to burn sooner than late, for burn we must. Go back to your bonfire! I will go now to my pyre. To my pyre! No tomb for Denethor and Faramir. No tomb! No long slow sleep of death embalmed. We will burn like heathen kings before ever a ship set sail from the West. The West has failed. Go back and burn!"

I heard the sound of footsteps running away, then an echo. At first, I disregarded either as being real, but then I discerned the echo to be Boromir's steps, so I continued forward, my resolution renewed, but soon my point of view was skewed again as I heard my father continuing to speak, more sadly this time.

"He is burning, already burning. The house of his spirit crumbles."

I heard his soft tread moving away from me, and he said, "Farewell! Farewell, Peregrin son of Paladin! Your service has been short, and now it is drawing to and end. I release you from the little that remains. Go now, and die in what way seems best to you. And with whom you will, even that friend whose folly brought you this death. Send for my servants then go. Farewell!"

"I will not go, my lord," said the squire I had heard before. Then, almost in contradiction, he said, "I will take your leave, sir, for I want to see Gandalf very much indeed. But he is no fool, and I will not think of dying until he despairs of life. But from my word and your service, I do not wish to be released while you live. And if they come at last to the Citadel, I hope to be here and stand beside you and earn perhaps the arms you have given me."

"Do as you will, Master Halfling. But my life is broken. Send for my servants!"

I felt someone grab my arm and yank me to the right of the direction I was going. I tried to clumsily struggle against whoever it was, but it was to no avail. "Faramir," Boromir hissed. He shook me roughly until I focused again on my surroundings and on reality. "What's going on?" He looked at me critically. "Were you drinking?"

"No, I was just... There's so much magic here..."

"You were drinking," he concluded.

"Of course I wasn't. In any case, I think it was Siriandil who attacked us.

Boromir shook his head. "Why would you think that?" Then before I could respond, "It was Dinanna. He knocked you out with a spell, then me before I could retaliate."

"But Anborn didn't revive us from... Never mind," I said quickly. "Were they in his quarters?" I figured I knew what I meant without me having to explain. I was right, and he shook his head. "Good. Let's get down to the library."

"You can think of books at a time like this?"

"Hardly; but the wizards probably spend a lot of time there, and since Calmacil hasn't come back yet, that probably confirms it."

"That lieutenant?" He sighed. "You've been letting things happen without me, haven't you?" I didn't reply.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: You should know who's mine and who's not. And as for the Elvish in this chapter, it's not "real Tolkien" elvish; it's that stuff floating around on the internet, so a word of warning is: don't rely in it, unless you're learning that.

CHAPTER SIX

"When we get there," Boromir said, stopping us before we reached the bottom of the stairwell, "we can not let them speak, or they will put a spell on us. We'll just have to sort out everything afterwards." I nodded and headed for the library's more discreet door in the back. "Not that way," Boromir insisted, "If the wizards are in there, they probably caught Calmacil when you sent him in, so they can expect us to be coming after him. So we go in the front."

"But..." I hesitated, seeing his logic. They would expect us, especially me, to try to steal in unnoticed, thereby going the in rear way. "All right then. Let's try to sneak up on the wizards by barging in the front door."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"It would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it." Then a sound touched my ears. "Someone's coming." It did occur to me that this might be another delusion, but I did not get that feeling, so I pulled Boromir into a closet with me.

"Cleaning supplies?" His dignity was clearly offended.

"Short notice." I shrugged and the two of us held our breaths, hoping that whoever it was would pass by. No such luck, however.

Siriandil opened the door and smirked at us. "You think a person can hide in a cleaning closet? It's the first place anyone would look."

Boromir was about to reply to him angrily, but I beat him to it. "Hide? Who said anything about hiding? Stewards do take care of the city, so isn't it about time they started taking their job seriously and doing real work?" I gestured to a mop with the joking attitude I had picked up from Mablung in hopes of relieving the tension.

Surprisingly it worked. Boromir just gaped at me in disbelief, and Siriandil was now amused at least. "So, your brother is training to become little more than... a glorified janitor?" I smiled and raised my eyebrows as if to say "Why not?", and he took on a superior attitude once more. "In the future, you may want to remember that it is easier to simply lie."

I stared at him hard. "I don't, but I'll remember that. At least," I clarified, "I'll remember that you said that; and since you're about to ask us to trust you enough to let you take care of the wizards without the assistance of mortals, I would advise you to reconsider." He wore a surprised expression, but one that was strangely pleased, so I ploughed ahead. "You revealed yourself to be a wizard when you released Boromir and me from the spell Dinanna put on us. That's how I knew you thought of us as inferior mortals."

Siriandil laughed. "I know I can not be read so easily as that. The blood of Westerneese must run true in you as it does in your father."

I shot a worried glance at Boromir, wondering how he would react to the reminder of Father's one displeasure in him- the fact that he did not seem to have inherited this trait. But rather than responding as I feared he would, he was glancing between the two of us with a confused expression. "What?" I asked him, but when I realized that it had come out as "Mani?", I recognized that Siriandil and I had lapsed into Elvish near the beginning of our conversation. This was also the preferred language of rangers, but Boromir had long since forgotten what little he knew of it.

"It appears we must speak in the Common Tongue," Siriandil said. Boromir was instantly relieved, but I was left disappointed. I missed speaking in the Fair Tongue whenever I came away from Ithilien to Minas Tirith.

"So, do you two have a plan for defeating the wizards?" Boromir inquired.

"Actually, I was just about to tell your brother that I can handle them myself."

Reacting irritably, I asked, "Lye n'astald e' dagor?" (Are we not valiant in battle?) I was, at least for now, reluctant to drop the language, as much because Boromir never actually heard me arguing with anyone higher in rank than me, and I did not want to give off the wrong impression.

"Amin sinta thalliolle. Tanya n'farnuva." (I know your strength. That will not suffice.)

"Makoi? Amin n'rangwa lle." (Why? I don't understand you.)

"Uuner uma; n'della no'ta." (No one does; don't worry about it.)

I set my jaw stubbornly. "Amin autien yassen lle." (I'm going with you.)

"Ta naa linnod: 'Uuma ma' ten' rashwe; ta tuluva a' lle'." (It is a saying: 'Don't look for trouble; it will come to you.)

"Amin uuma malia. Amin tulien." (I don't care. I'm coming.) At this point, I hoped I didn't sound like a spoiled child. Judging by his response, I guessed I did not.

He sighed. "Manka lle merna. Ta naa dethloalle." (If you wish. It is you choice.)

"Well?" Boromir demanded impatiently. "What was just decided?"

"We're helping him." I said.

"It's about time."

"And I have an idea," Siriandil put in.

"And that's also more like it. Now, we can start moving."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Only the same dudes are mine. Same warning about the "Elvish".

CHAPTER SEVEN

"How long?" Boromir whispered to Siriandil.

"Not long; listen." He tilted his head to one side, assuming an attentive pose then straightened and nodded.

As Boromir and I flattened ourselves on either side of the door, Siriandil casually strolled toward it. It opened at precisely that moment, and the wizard ran into a very flustered-looking Calmacil. The lieutenant was too bust trying to get around Siriandil that he didn't notice us until the doors had already closed very firmly.

Boromir took the hilt of his sword and swung it into Calmacil's face to drop him unconscious as I grabbed from the guard's hand a rolled, sealed paper. "From Nenlom," I announced, handing it to Boromir. While he opened it, I pressed my ear to the door to hear the four wizards' conversation. Our general plan was that once the wizards sent a message to their superiors (we had guessed it would be delivered by Calmacil, hwo was obviously working specifically for them), we would intercept it as proof of their activities for my father. In the meantime, Siriandil would keep them in the library until Boromir and I could return with my father and Mithrandir to confront them. Until then, it wouldn't even come to a fight, or so the plan went.

"Would you three assist me with something?" Siriandil was asking them. "There's some research I'm doing..."

"Actually we were just leaving."

"But, Dinanna, my friend, this is very important, and you have always helped me with things like this before. Why not now?" There was no response; at least none audible from my listening point. Siriandil changed his tone. "Dinanna, if you three do not help me, I will be forced to believe there is some deep, dark conspiracy going on here that you do not want me to know about.

He laughed lightly to show he was joking, but three people quickly responded "No!" so forcefully that I wanted to laugh. Siriandil had things well in hand, I decided. I abandoned my eavesdropping and followed Boromir down the hallway so we could talk. "He has things under control in the library," I reported.

Boromir nodded. "I tied and gagged Calmacil and put him in a closet, but he won't awaken any time soon, anyway." He smiled in self-satisfaction. "Now, you read this and we'll bring it to Father."

I took it and read the elvish letters. "It says 'Dagnir en taur'ohtarea'- translated 'Bane of Rangers'. Not exactly incriminating."

"And our plan was hinging on this not being coded." He sighed. "Now, I have to figure out how we are going to get out of this mess." I waited for my older brother to come up with an alternate plan, perfectly confident in his ability to think up something, but any logical thought turned out to be unnecessary, for we heard a fight breaking out in the library and Boromir naturally charged right in with me close behind.

Calmacil was there, having somehow escaped his makeshift prison. But surprisingly he was using his sword to fight Dinanna with Nenlom's assistance. That left Siriandil to face off with Tarfea. Deciding to sort everything out later, I joined Siriandil's fight, and Boromir helped out in the other.

Seeing that there were no staffs out, I was about to be relieved at the lack of magic being used in this wizards' duel. Then I heard a moan from Calmacil as the lieutenant dropped to the ground, shivering in a sudden cold sweat. I was slightly concerned, but even more so when Boromir joined him in the same condition.

Now infuriated, I decided to utilize the one advantage humans- or rangers at least- have over wizards: reflexes. I stopped my offensive slashes that I was directing against Tarfea, ducked his blade, and left him to Siriandil. I turned to face Dinanna who had at that moment stabbed Nenlom in the side and simultaneously raised his other hand in my direction to cast some evil spell at me. He did succeed in his goal, but I also succeeded n mine; I drew my dagger and with a flick of my wrist, I sent it flying towards him. It drove through and lodged in Dinanna's hand, and he clutched at it with a scream of pain while retreating to the back door.

To my satisfaction, as I was dropping to the ground from his spell, I saw him run into Mithrandir, who was at that moment walking in the door, trailed by Father, Anborn, Mablung, and Damrod- that latter having obviously been ditched by Siriandil. Then I found myself dropping into a haze, an unfamiliar one. I sensed heat all around me, like fire, and tendrils of the flame seemed to be eating away at my skin, until abruptly the heat was gone. The pain did not dissipate, though; rather, it worsened. It was a needle-like sting which shot through my limbs.

A strange sort of blending began to take place between .reality and the dream world that I continued to observe. In both of them, I was left in this pain, and Mithrandir was leaning over me with my father in the background. But I felt as though I was at the sme time in the palace library and the Silent Street- the ancient mausoleum of the kings and stewards of Gondor.

The pain was becoming unbearable. I called out, begging for help. "Mithrandir, Father!"

I had probably only said the first word for real, and dreamed saying the second, for my father did respond from the Silent Street, while he never would have for real. "Do not take my son from me!" he said. "He calls for me."

Mithrandir's deep voice was the next thing I hear. "He calls, but you can not come to him yet. For he must seek healing on the threshold of death, and maybe find it not."

He faded into the background, and Anborn's voice asked, "Mithrandir, will he recover?"

"I can not say. The spell Dinanna used against him was powerful..."

Heat. Fire. The stench of burning flesh and boiling blood. My eyes fluttered open then shut again. The Silent Street- my father and two of his servants consumed in a blaze of fire.

I slowly woke up. "I believe he will recuperate well," Siriandil said.

"If he doesn't, may I have his dagger?"

"Mablung," I murmured, "over my dead body."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: All the wizards here minus Mithrandir/all his other names and Saruman are mine.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"How many wizards are there?" Boromir demanded, having just realized who Siriandil was.

"Including me," Mithrandir reported, "there are six Istari in this room."

"Six?" Boromir, like everyone else, began scanning the room for our unknown wizard. "Calmacil?" he asked, also arriving at the same conclusion as everyone else. "Is that how you got out of the closet?"

He smiled. "Technically, I'm only Nenlom's apprentice, but it was enough."

"And I," explained Nenlom, "infiltrated the secret Society of the Istari when I first heard of their activities. I also sent Calmacil here at that time. I knew even then that something was bound to happen in Minas Tirith eventually."

"Since that was probably hundreds of years ago," I said, addressing Calmacil, "I would hazard a guess that you have no existing records prior to your days in the Gondorian army because you switch every twenty years or so between that position and palace guard and destroy the records behind you; thereby disguising your age."

"What about Nenlom himself and the other wizards?" Anborn asked, perplexed. "Would they not be a bit obvious hopping between various occupations?"

"They would, but you make that assumption without one vital fact." I glanced at Boromir, who nodded his agreement and filled in,

"Father knew they were wizards, as did, most likely, a line of Stewards before him. They could cover it up well enough." Our father smiled approvingly at him, which we all took as an affirmation.

"Is there anything else that needs to be cleared up before I bring these two to the White Council?" Siriandil asked.

"One thing," Damrod said. "Are you working for anyone?"

Siriandil smiled at me in a friendly, half-challenging manner to give me the opportunity to guess. I did not disappoint him, either. "Saruman," I guessed. "He would never want to be left out of anything this large. Siriandil nodded, then with the assistance of Calmacil and the now-convalescing Nenlom, he silently escorted Tarfea and Dinanna away as everyone else dispersed.

When almost everyone was gone, something occurred to me to ask of Mithrandir. I was hesitant to interrupt his thoughtful mood, but when he noticed me approaching him, he smiled at me. "You were wondering something?"

"Several somethings, actually, but for now, I will content myself with only one question. Do you know, or have you heard of a wizard named Gandalf?" That was one of the many odd points in my dreams, and somehow, it stood out for me. It wouldn't hurt to ask about it, at least, but I neglected to mention the origin of my query.

"Yes, I know this wizard well," he responded sounding quite amused, "for it is another name of mine."

"You have two names?"

"Many are my names in many countries. Mithrandir among the elves, Tharkun to the dwarves; Olorin I was in my youth in the West that is forgotten, in the South Incanus, in the North Gandalf; to the East I go not."

I was not actually surprised. I recalled my father in my dream referring to Gandalf as 'Grey Fool'. Who else could he have been referring to? Still, it worried me for some reason. "Thank you; that gives me the answer I sought, but from it springs more questions; questions that I dare not ask." Noticing his eyebrows drawn together in thought, I felt a sudden wish to prevent him from thinking on it further. "I may tell you in the future what those questions are; but now I can not."

"I will, but first let me venture a query of my own. Where did you here the name 'Gandalf'?"

"Mithrandir, please..."

"Never mind. Just forget I asked."

I smiled gratefully, and he left me with Boromir, who was pacing around the area, waiting for Mithrandir to leave. He was not filled with as much animosity towards the wizard now as he had been a few days ago, but he still would not willingly enter into a friendly conversation with him. But at least I could harbor hopes for the future.

My brother joined me, and I couldn't help sighing. Boromir's one-sided conversation did not interest me at that moment, any more than wizards' talk interested him, and now that all of the problems with the wizards were solved, I felt entitled to some rest. So I excused myself from Boromir's company, although he was reluctant to let me go. When I arrived in my inner room, the first thing I saw was, as always, the painting of my mother opposite the door. I smiled at her contentedly then lay down on my bed for some sleep, but it did not come.

No rest came at all, for that matter, for I was in one part of my mind reluctant to, and reluctant to dream. I feared those words 'the threshold of death' and the all-consuming pain that went with it, and the thoughts that filled my mind. But why? Did I harbor some belief in the reality of those dreams? I probably did- why not?- for it made sense in a distorted sort of way.

On the other hand, the world around me was so real, and I knew how I got there and why events were happening around me, unlike that other world inside my head. I could not now be living in just a dream.

Either way, I could be sure of one thing. I was indeed on some kind of threshold. In one world, it was the doorstep of death, and in the other, the beginning of a new stage of my life. If the latter was true, I knew I would be all right, but not so if it was the former.

I moaned at the thought. Boromir and my father would be dead, as well as countless others; probably some of my other close friends. War would have come to Minas Tirith and darkened the gates of the White City. But there was only one way to find out.

Thoughts swirling in my head, I finally let myself sleep.


	9. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Nothing here is mine except "Nenlom, Calmacil, and all the rest".

EPILOGUE

"Is everything all right?"

I raised myself on my elbow and looked at Mithrandir from my position on my side. Everything was coming back to me now. I remembered getting shot during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, then lying in the Houses of Healing until Aragorn- the king of Gondor- could heal me. While there, I had been in a feverish state in which I dreamed in depth about events thirteen years previous.

I could also vaguely remember the Silent Street where my father had committed suicide in his insanity, a fell state of mind caused by his constant use of the palantir, in my opinion. And while in that mausoleum, he had tried to kill me along with him. But I did not die, though he successfully killed himself. He was the last of my kin, I realized at that moment. Boromir had just died a recent death at the hands of Saruman's Uruk-Hai, as I was told by Peregrin Took. Remembering my brother, I felt a great pain in my chest like a lead weight. Seeing my expression, Mithrandir pressed,

"Faramir?"

"I'm fine, thank you." It didn't seem to convince him. "I was just... remembering the last adventure we had." I smiled vaguely. "You remember Nenlom, Calmacil, and all the rest."

"I remember them. You know," he laughed, "I still think now and then about how you knew the name 'Gandalf'. Will you tell me now that it's all history over a decade old?"

Did I really ask him that? But I knew from the dreams, the dreams of that I had really experienced no more than days ago. "To tell you the truth, I'm still not quite ready to talk about that yet. There are still some things that I must sort out."

He looked at me sternly. "Speaking of 'not quite ready to talk', now you're making me get off the subject. None of that's not what I came in to check on you for. I heard you moaning in here."

"That was nothing," I sighed. "It was no more than a dream."


End file.
